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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25372429">In the Spring, I Shed My Skin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Centuryon/pseuds/Centuryon'>Centuryon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Return Ending, Underage Sex, canon-typical suffering, mild bloodplay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:01:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25372429</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Centuryon/pseuds/Centuryon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He understood the cradle would become a vessel for the Divine Heir, <i>giving Him shelter, granting His return to the west. </i></p><p>He could not imagine that role played by anyone but himself. “I am his shinobi,” he had told her simply. “And as immortal as you are.” And after a long, sad look at him, she acquiesced.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kuro | The Divine Heir/Sekiro | Wolf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In the Spring, I Shed My Skin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had the idea months ago of a Return Ending AU where Wolf becomes the cradle instead of the Divine Child. Eventually I was thinking so much about the possibilities for both Kurowolf intimacy and weird stuff happening to Wolf that I had to write it. Hope y'all enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is not the first time he has tasted raw, bleeding flesh.</p><p>As an orphaned boy, haunting the edges of battlefields like the stray wolf pup his father named him, prepared food had been hard to come by. In his training, too, Owl impressed on him the importance of survival over comfort. He would eat whatever he could trap, and it was not always safe to make a fire. </p><p>The fresh serpent heart, therefore, is not too difficult to stomach at first. The muscle is tough, the blood so hot it steams in the mountain air, but he laps it up dutifully, chews through the meat as best he can and swallows in rough chunks what he can break down no further. </p><p>It is big, bigger than his head, but he thinks in the beginning that with the right focus he can stomach it. He is nearly always hungry, in fact, and if he attends to that feeling instead of pushing it away, pretends he is once more a starving pup gorging itself on a rare meal, he may even enjoy it. And he can always think of Kuro—he <i>is</i> always thinking of him, whatever he does and wherever he goes, but now he can dare to imagine his lord’s wishes fulfilled, and his spirit… safe, somehow. He does not entirely understand the details. </p><p>She had offered to do it, of course. In fact, she had declared her intention, not expecting him to offer himself in her stead. </p><p>Her eyes had wrinkled in grief. “You have done enough, shinobi. Let me do this for Kuro.”</p><p>He knew nothing of what it meant to be the cradle, nor did he ask. She was Kuro’s equal in learning, and Wolf could not hope to match them in that realm. He understood sacrifice well enough, however. He understood the cradle would become a vessel for the Divine Heir, <i>giving Him shelter, granting His return to the west.</i> </p><p>He could not imagine that role played by anyone but himself. “I am his shinobi,” he had told her simply. “And as immortal as you are.” And after a long, sad look at him, she acquiesced. </p><p>The dried serpent’s viscera he had procured long ago, not knowing what it was. The fresh organ he sought out, and it took some time to find the small ledge from which he could catch the serpent unawares. There was something almost sad about the ease of the kill, in spite of the work he’d done to find the ambush point. The serpents were regarded as gods, and he had destroyed one. Soaked in its blood, he returned to the Divine Child, carrying the great red “persimmon” he had cut from its body.</p><p>And now he devours it, taking whatever godhood it once possessed into his own form, imagining he is absorbing its strength to give to Kuro. It is hot, as if still living, the thick blood scalding the back of his throat. There is so much blood; if he was not already covered in it, he would be soon. It pours from everywhere he bites, bursts into his mouth as he chews. Before long his jaw aches and his throat is raw. He pauses to breathe, and clears his throat, panting in a vain attempt to cool his mouth. He has not quite eaten a quarter of the organ.</p><p>The Divine Child has granted him use of the inner sanctum, for which he is grateful: it is a strangely  intimate thing to eat the serpent’s flesh, and the stink of blood would surely draw attention in the world outside. She does not scrutinize him, however, preferring to rest.</p><p>Now, hearing his harsh breaths, she addresses him. “I would offer you water, shinobi, only… I do not know how it would affect the process. There is some suggestion that the fruits of the serpent must be consumed pure, apart from any other substance.”</p><p>“It… it is all right,” he says, though the words come out strange at first, as more a growl than human speech, and he has to pause to force his lips into the correct shape.</p><p>“I am sorry for your suffering,” she says softly. She does not seem surprised at his difficulty communicating. All part of the process, then. </p><p>He does not try to speak again, but her words have reminded him of why his task is necessary. He is <i>not</i> sorry to be suffering, not if it is for his lord’s sake. After one final deep breath, he bows his head back to his meal and bites in again.</p><p>The pain begins soon after. </p><p>Thus far the meat had tasted as he expected. Rich and sharply metallic, it was like eating any animal’s heart but for the unnatural heat. On the next bite, however, the blood stings his throat as well as warming it, and a painfully bitter taste floods his mouth, a taste his body understands on an instinctual level to mean poison. He almost gags, and in desperation bites his lip hard to keep his mouth shut. His jaw hurts, as if the toxin had sunk inside through his gums; unable to chew, he manages with difficulty to swallow the bite whole. </p><p>He can <i>feel</i> it slide down his throat and into his stomach. His muscles convulse painfully from his jaw all the way through his abdomen, and it feels so hot, like the flesh is burning him from the inside. Everything in him revolts against the intrusion, but he draws upon his training, willing himself to breathe, fighting the nausea that rolls over him in wake of the sharp pain. Kuro depends on him. He will do this for him. </p><p>The next mouthful is easier, now that he knows what to expect. The same shudders overtake him, first as the bitterness bursts against his tongue and again after he swallows. It is easier to press on without thinking, so he does, mindlessly taking the flesh into his mouth again and again. And then strangely, it gets easier still, because in spite of the pain, in spite of the heat—almost because of them, as if they are awakening some latent instinct—he begins to feel hunger. He is hot, hot everywhere, and his abdominal muscles ache from their repeated violent contractions, and he becomes suddenly, fanatically convinced that all this pain stems from desire: the raw, gaping enormity of his hunger, his need to fill his body with the blood and meat of the great serpent. He cannot move his body fast enough, cannot eat enough to fill the void inside him. Time passes in a blur of desperate devouring. All at once there is nothing before him, no meat left. Muscles twitching, jaw working at empty air, he opens his mouth and <i>hisses</i>. It is the guttural noise of an animal in pain, and he keeps making it, his fingers digging into the floor and his body shaking. The noise only stops when he ducks down to lick at the bloodstains beneath him, the faded taste of acid not enough, not enough—</p><p>“Shinobi,” a voice says. He does not understand it at first, barely registers it above his frantic need. “Shinobi, please, remember why you are doing this…”</p><p>She is still talking, and as the last traces of blood disappear he begins to remember, even as the pain continues to gnaw at him. Shinobi, yes, he is a shinobi. The shinobi of the Divine Heir. </p><p>Kuro’s face appears in his mind, breaking through his previous fixation. The pain, the void is still there, but now his attention is fully on his lord. He can picture him so clearly, his face, his body… his small, bare feet, his slender ankles, his legs…</p><p>Something in him lurches; he needs, he <i>needs</i> Kuro. He remembers nothing of his task, nothing of anything except how badly he wants to touch his lord. His hunger has suddenly taken a different turn; he is shockingly, frighteningly aroused. Desire has never before felt so painful, nor so urgent—though it has, he does not like to admit, centered on Kuro before.</p><p>He is panting again, suffused with unnatural heat, only this time he is boiling alive with lust. He feels like he will die if he doesn’t get his hands on Kuro, if he doesn’t kiss those soft, tender lips, part his smooth legs and drink in the sight of what lies between them. </p><p>He cannot understand why he hasn’t done it before; surely he has always felt like this, always wanted everything he might have of Kuro. Some part of him remains lucid enough to know this feeling is not wholly new, and yet the strength of it is such that he cannot believe he never acted on it. How many times has he knelt in his lord's presence and taken in the sight of him, even caught the faint, sweet smell of his body? He cannot fathom the restraint his memory tells him he must have shown. It is unthinkable that he could have resisted the urge to simply lower his head into Kuro’s lap, or to peel off his clothes and <i>lick</i> the sweetness straight from his skin, taste every part of his body, lick into his hole until he is wet and open and ready for Wolf’s cock. </p><p>He wants to pull Kuro flush against him, have that body as close to his own as possible, then flip him over, pin him down, join them even further. Push inside, fill him up, fuck him hard and rough, forget everything that could ever come between them.</p><p>Kuro, he has to believe, would be amenable to it, would spread his legs for him eagerly, let Wolf inside. His lord is always so kind to him, always reaching out to him, treating him with a tenderness he does not deserve. This time Wolf would let him, would repay him in kind, allow Kuro full use of his body and his service. And Wolf would give him pleasure, enough pleasure to overwhelm all the pain Kuro has ever felt. He would bring him to climax again and again on his cock, take him to the height of ecstasy. He is <i>so hot, so hard</i>. He <i>will</i> do it. He will—when he sees Kuro again, he will ravish him. </p><p>When he sees Kuro again… something in that thought pierces through his wild fantasies. Kuro is not here. When he sees him again...</p><p>In the distance he can hear a voice. “Shinobi, please, you must continue.” He can barely work out the meaning of the words. “You must focus.”</p><p>There is something in front of him. Something just before his eyes, the color of pale flesh, moving closer. Thinking of Kuro’s white throat, he presses his mouth to it, dragging his tongue over as much as he can reach. </p><p>It is the texture of old paper, and it tastes of ashes and death. Ashes blanketing a battlefield, covering the numberless forms of the dead. A land without water and without hope, everything dead, his parents dead, Kuro dead—</p><p>He chokes, pulling back from the thing. All desire has fled from him. His body feels as though it has been doused in icy water, and he beholds with cold lucidity the dried serpent viscera.</p><p>“Thank you,” he manages to tell the Divine Child, who has crouched next to him. </p><p>“I am sorry, shinobi,” she says. She strokes his hair, though surely it must be matted with blood. “The dried persimmon is very toxic. The monks once used the aged serpent’s organs to make a poison which preserves the body after death. To consume it will be… very unpleasant.”</p><p>“I will manage,” he says. It must be done. She retreats to her end of the sanctum, and he is left alone with the rest of his task. So the dried viscera is toxic. The Divine Child had given him no such warning before the first organ, which he takes to mean this part will be worse, though perhaps it had simply been too long since anyone had tasted a fresh fruit of the serpent. </p><p>On the other hand, just a taste of the outer casing had provoked a strong reaction in him. He had not even swallowed anything, and yet he was snapped violently out of his lustful state and, for a moment, plunged into an overwhelming despair.</p><p>He has died many times before, by poison and fire and blood loss. Once, he had even been crushed in the living jaws of a great serpent. Surely the pain he might now suffer cannot be so much worse than that. And he does this for Kuro, so he will endure it. All that he has ever done, he has done for him. </p><p>He takes the aged organ into his mouth and bites.</p><p>It hurts terribly, immediately, in a way the fresh viscera had not. The contact of his teeth with the flesh is like biting into ice; pain shoots through his mouth as if every tooth were rotten. The despair is not so potent now that it is not breaking him out of such powerful longing, but he feels it just the same, a mix of fear and regret and hopelessness. He has never felt less hungry. The dried organ does not taste remotely like food, but rather like dead matter, dry and cold and vaguely medicinal on his tongue. </p><p>He tries to eat fast, hoping to hasten the end, but finds his jaw slow to respond, as if it is coming unmoored from his mind. Soon he finds it takes intense focus to move it even the slightest amount.</p><p>He remembers what the Divine Child said about the monks. It does feel as if his body is shutting down. Apart from the slowness of his reactions, a deep chill has spread through him, and his muscles ache. Unlike the sharp pains the fresh viscera had provoked, this is more like the pain that accompanies sickness, or overuse without adequate nourishment. His jaw still works, albeit slowly, but his legs are now so stiff that when he tries to shift his weight he finds he cannot move at all.</p><p>He supposes he will die, and the rest of his task will have to be completed after resurrection. The Divine Child seemed convinced that immortality was necessary to become the cradle; perhaps this is why. He wishes he could have a draught from his healing gourd. Though he is used to dying, he is not accustomed to waiting like this, unable to prevent his strength from sapping away. It occurs to him that this is how a great many men die, slowly and painfully, helpless to fight it. </p><p>His fingers are frozen. It takes an age to peel off the next bite with his teeth alone, and it hurts so much that he groans aloud before willing himself to focus, to think of Kuro. Even here, though, despair overtakes him. He cannot help but imagine Kuro dying in his place, feeling the cold and the fear. He is bearing this agony now that his lord might be spared such a fate. Still, if he is right, disaster has only just barely been averted. </p><p>He thinks back to that fateful conversation. It was something in her voice that tipped him off: She had hesitated after he told her about the rice balls, looking increasingly sad the more details he shared about Kuro, and she sounded so unsure as she spoke of Immortal Severance that Wolf was instantly alarmed. When she suggested an alternate path, he was ready to agree. First, though, he demanded the truth about his lord’s plans, and thus his worst suspicions were confirmed. </p><p>The revelation broke something in him. He believed her, both because of her learning and because he knew in his heart that Kuro would not balk at self-sacrifice. He remembered Kuro asking him how many times he had died, and how he had reassured him it did not matter. He should have known Kuro’s guilt went beyond that single moment, as Kuro apparently knew to share only the vaguest outline of the severance ritual with Wolf. </p><p>Now he cannot help but imagine Kuro dying like this, cold and afraid, with Wolf’s sword through his body. He makes another pathetic noise; it hurts so much, so much more than any of his previous deaths, and worse, he cannot escape the image of Kuro in his stead. Despite the fact he is doing this to spare Kuro that fate, the knowledge of how easily it could have happened haunts him. It is not usual for him, this fixation on what might have been, and he knows it must be an effect of the fruit of the serpent, for his spirit to suffer as well as his body. Nonetheless, it torments him, how close to failure he had come. How could he have known his very obedience would be his lord’s undoing?</p><p>What’s more, he doesn’t really know what will happen to Kuro after this. He gathers he will continue to exist in some form, making it far preferable to Immortal Severance, but he suspects Kuro will not be able to live an ordinary life, either. He remembers, with a fresh wave of agony, Kuro’s rice ball and his wish to open a tea house one day. Whatever he does now, that future will never come to pass. Was there some third path he has missed? Was there ever any way for Kuro to escape unscathed? </p><p>Perhaps they were, both of them, doomed from the start. </p><p>He presses his head to the floor, jaw clenched, eyes stinging. An involuntary whine escapes his lips. No, he <i>cannot</i> give up, not now. With great effort he pulls himself up just enough to take another mouthful. His vision has started to blur, but he can smell the organ, a noxious dead scent that turns his stomach. It will not be long now. He must finish, he must…</p><p>The next time he tries to tear off a piece, he is unsuccessful. It is no longer possible for him to move his mouth with the necessary precision, or to turn his head enough to rip the meat free. He moans in frustration, rubbing his mouth ineffectually over the source of his pain.</p><p>“Shinobi, let me help.” He starts, or would have if he were able to move. With his deteriorating vision, he had not detected her approach. Through clouded eyes he sees her hand descend, tearing off the strip of flesh for him. She cradles his head and feeds it to him, firmly stroking his throat when his feeble attempt at swallowing is not quite enough. </p><p>He has no strength to even mumble his thanks, but trusts she understands his gratitude just the same. She continues to feed him, and he struggles against the urge to resist as the pain worsens. There should not be much more, now. Perhaps he can finish it in this life after all. The bites are getting smaller, and crushed between her hands so he can swallow them. He licks them up weakly, letting her do most of the work, his thoughts slowing and senses dull. </p><p>His heart beats at an irregular pace, and each contraction sends an excruciating jolt through him. His last coherent thought is an old memory of a serpent, half-dead, writhing from the effects of one of his father’s poisons. He had felt no pity for the beast at the time. His heart thumps once more, the noise echoing in his skull, and then everything is silent.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>Everything in him feels the decay. Even the air, once filled with the fresh scent of rain and the metallic tang that forebodes lightning, has begun to smell of it. Would that his roots had not grown so deep here. The soil of this land, once nourished by potent waters, is so soaked in his blood that it has grown toxic.</p><p>There is now, he senses, a host prepared to receive him. His roots will be pulled out and cut back—but that is for the better, so that he might be planted elsewhere, and feed on blood no longer. Even now, the one who bears his gift is wasting away. A deep sorrow pervades him at the thought, a sorrow not his own, but he will have to endure it for now. Soon that sorrowing mind will pull him tenderly apart from the one his roots are tangled in, and such outgrowths of mortality will trouble him no longer. Far away from all bloodshed and grief will he be, then, and his mind will dance once more with the wind and fall in drops upon the earth, to cleanse and not to infect.</p><p>Ah, but now… his spirit is plagued by thoughts of the boy, dying, another taking his place… his roots sunk into bleeding wounds, forever… and that one, irreplaceable, forever parted from his servant. His breath is cold, a chill wind descending on the land below, and his eye grows wet. He blinks. <i>Are you, now, ready to carry us?</i> He asks the host.</p><p>
  <i>I am.</i>
</p><p>And the droplet falls. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>Wolf gasps. His lungs expand greedily as the uncomfortable sensation of his blood beginning to move again hits him. The first breath is always the most painful, but this time it feels especially strange, somehow… different, as if his body is not how he left it.</p><p>His eyes fly open, but he can see nothing, only blackness. He is very cold. </p><p>“What…?” he croaks. His memory is returning to him, but slowly. He had expected this death, had almost longed for it. And there is something—something terrible, he knows, some enormous grief he had borne—<i>Kuro</i>. It washes over him again, though without the physical pain that had wracked him before. While his body may be functioning once more, however, he is undeniably changed. His skin is so cold that even the floor beneath him feels warm. He blinks, willing his sight to return, to no avail.</p><p>“Ah, shinobi, your eyes… let me…” He hears the Divine Child approach. He briefly wonders how long he was dead, and then her footsteps stop beside him, and his eyes are stinging, his heart still aching for his lord, longing for his safety. He feels a teardrop leave his eye, roll partway down his face, and then become solid against his icy skin. Another follows it, and then another—he feels the weight of grief begin to lift—and then he sees, at once, the frozen tears fall into her open palm. He looks up at her face in wonder.</p><p>“Oh—! You can see again?” He nods. She holds out the tears to him, smiling. “Give these to Kuro, along with the other dragon tears you showed me.”</p><p>He handles them reverently. So these, too, are Tears of the Dragon. The hint of a memory stirs as he holds them: the sense of his body so vast it stretched from the deep earth into the heavens, the whole world beneath him... some dream he had once, perhaps.</p><p>“Once you unite with Kuro, come back to me,” she tells him. “We will set out for the dragon’s homeland together.”</p><p>Yes. His greatest task still lies ahead of him. </p><p>“Thank you,” he says, though the words feel inadequate.</p><p>“Thank you, shinobi,” she says, still smiling. “Together, you and I will put right a great wrong.”</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>He had come straight to her, per her instructions, after his return from the Divine Realm. Having completed that undertaking, the urgency of the steps ahead have become very apparent. It had been necessary to take this risk, or so he thought, but he has been apart from Kuro longer than his lord must have anticipated, long enough to make Wolf uneasy. He races towards the castle, now, hoping he is not too late. After shedding the frozen tears, his eyes seem to have returned to normal, and his night vision is as powerful as ever. His body, though still abnormally cold, likewise retains all his old abilities. It simply feels… different, in a way he cannot quite place, like something inside him has been rearranged. As long as his combat skills are intact, though, he will not worry.</p><p>The sight of flames does not wholly surprise him, but it sends a bolt of fear through him just the same. The castle has already fallen, then. Following some nameless instinct, he turns toward the reservoir. Either Kuro is waiting for him there, or he is beyond Wolf’s help.</p><p>As he approaches the door, this sense gets stronger; like a dog who has picked up a scent, he simply knows Kuro is ahead, so close, and still not close enough. And he can feel the danger, too, the presence of blood which should never be spilled. The sharp taste fills his mouth as he sprints through the tunnel, and there is something distinctly <i>singed</i> mixed in with it, so that he is not surprised at who awaits him when he emerges from the passage. </p><p>The ensuing battle passes in a whirl of blades and chaos. Wolf has never felt more focused. Genichiro falls easily; he knows well how to fight the man, and even the Black Mortal Blade cannot change Wolf’s advantage in skill. When Isshin rises in his stead, he simply readies his sword, knowing somehow that even this he can overcome. He keeps track of Kuro’s position in the grass, leading the younger Isshin away from him, and never losing the feeling of a pull, magnetic, between his lord’s body and his own. Had he still been blind, he could have found him. </p><p>His eyesight, in fact, feels sharper than ever before, or perhaps it’s his instincts; the most minute twitches of Isshin’s muscles draw his gaze, and every time the man draws his sword, he is ready. They dance, in tune with each other, and under any other circumstances he would have been overcome by the joy of battle. When the great Isshin Ashina falls to his knees before him, Wolf allows himself only the slightest moment of satisfaction before finishing it. And then, the moment his final stroke falls, the pull at last becomes too strong to resist. </p><p>He kneels at Kuro’s side, frantic. “My lord,” he says, urgently, slipping his hand beneath Kuro’s neck, feeling for his pulse. </p><p>Kuro’s eyes flutter. “Wolf…” he says, barely audible. “Where are you?”</p><p>“I am at your side.” He reaches into his pockets, produces the precious tears. “Take these, my lord.” </p><p>They dissolve over his face in a burst of sparks, and then Kuro draws in a sharp breath. His eyes focus on Wolf’s and he reaches up towards his face. Thinking his lord wants to sit upright, he puts his arms beneath him, takes him into his lap. He is so light, so fragile like this. The realization hits Wolf that his lord may never grow older, never grow up, and grief fills him at the thought. He would have been a better man than any Wolf has known, if only the Dragon’s Heritage had never touched him—but that does not bear thinking about. Surely this strange path he set them on was the best possible outcome. Surely Wolf has done the best he can.</p><p>Kuro is still reaching towards him, and Wolf wishes he would save his strength. He touches Wolf’s cheek, just looking at him, and Wolf tries to ignore the scent of blood, the hot trickle of it down his neck. Instead, he does his best to memorize the sight of him: the precise shade of his eyes, the texture of his hair… every detail now seems incredibly precious. Had he ever appreciated what a privilege it was to look upon Kuro at all? Had he taken those years in his service for granted? He holds in his arms the only thing he has ever truly cared for, and the one thing he is unprepared to lose.</p><p>His thoughts are interrupted as Kuro leans up even further, and Wolf’s gaze drops to his lips just before they meet his own. </p><p>For a brief moment the kiss eclipses all else. The frantic pull inside Wolf ceases, and his arms tighten around Kuro, only wanting to hold him like this forever. </p><p>As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he feels something else: a strange crackling energy passes between them, a light bursts before his eyes, and suddenly Kuro is not there, his body dissolved into a mist that surges into Wolf’s chest as soon as it appears. All at once his arms hold nothing, and only the ghost of sensation lingers on his lips. Instinctively, he presses a hand to his chest, trying to follow that last trace of him. Warmth spreads through his body from where they joined, and then a chill, and finally there is a strange twisting sensation behind his sternum. He keeps his hand there for a moment, waiting for some other feeling, some sign that his lord is all right, but it never comes. He brushes his face where Kuro touched him, but his hand comes away clean. Even his blood must have faded away.</p><p>It is a harsh contrast, to be alone after having been so close to him. The sense of loss, though not unexpected, is sharp at first. Yet something has settled inside him, too. It is not the reassurance he wants, this nameless intuition, but he tries to feel calmed by it just the same. What had felt unbalanced in him is now slotted into place. The space carved out by the serpents’ viscera has been filled and made whole. The feeling spreads through him as he stands. He had done as he was bid, and he must trust that the ritual worked. Kuro’s body may be gone, but Wolf will carry his lord to safety all the same. </p><p>He still does not know what it means, exactly. Still he does not know if he will ever see Kuro in the flesh again, or if he will even be able to communicate with him at all. For now, however, those questions are not so urgent. Tonight he reached Kuro in time, and the worst fate has been averted. </p><p>The sun is beginning to rise over Ashina. Wolf turns to the west, ready to begin his long journey. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>The changes happen slowly. </p><p>At first, it is only another intangible, ineffable difference. He feels <i>something</i> else stirring inside him, but there is no evidence that something is Kuro. His vision remains sharper than usual, and colors somewhat distorted; raw meat begins to seem very appealing while other foods repulse him. And still there is that elusive sense his mind is not as it once was—but he never hears Kuro’s voice, never feels any sign of him. He starts to feel very uneasy about what he’s done. It feels wrong, having no trace of his lord. Even his clothes had dissolved along with his body; it is almost as if he never existed. Wolf’s memories are the only thing left of him now. Late one night, unable to sleep, he wonders if he is the only person living who remembers Kuro. Ashina is in ruins now, and he has no idea what has become of Emma. Even the Divine Child knows only what Wolf has told her.</p><p>He never voices his concerns, but she seems to sense them just the same. </p><p>“Even though you cannot see him, I know he is there,” she says, and he remembers at once the other children, invisible to his eye. If he can believe something of them still exists, he should have faith the same holds true for Kuro. He nods gratefully. </p><p>Still, he can’t shake the feeling he should be able to sense his presence, somehow. Is Kuro’s spirit sleeping somewhere within him? Is he reaching out to Wolf even now, and Wolf simply cannot recognize it? He thinks guiltily that the Divine Child would have been much better suited to this task after all. She has much in common with Kuro, and is used to communing with incorporeal beings. It was, truly, selfish desire that had led him to volunteer instead. The thought of anyone else carrying his lord’s spirit had disturbed him. Had he wanted so badly to keep Kuro for himself that he was willing to stifle him? </p><p>Such thoughts often keep him awake, as they make their way west towards the sea. He is well disposed to keep watch during the night anyway, and often stays awake long after his companion has dozed off. </p><p>When he does sleep, he dreams of the dragon, strange dreams where he can taste approaching rain and feel their growing proximity to the sea through his root system. There is both grief and a sense of anticipation running through the dreams, always, though he cannot tell to whom the feelings belong. He often wakes expecting to see Kuro sleeping beside him, and the pain of his absence is fresh each morning. </p><p>The journey itself is strangely pleasant, though, increasingly so as the days pass. The mountainous terrain gives way to gentle slopes and woods containing trees he has never seen before. The air even smells different. After several days, he begins to feel uncharacteristically lighthearted, glad to be witnessing so many new things. Flowers and insects catch his eye, and even the ache in his muscles from walking is oddly pleasant. </p><p>One night, as they eat their meager meal by a small fire, he is thinking of the future—not with caution, as is his tendency, but with simple anticipation. </p><p>“I can’t believe I’m going to see the ocean,” he says out loud. “I have always wondered—” And then he stops short, because he recognizes at last that the words, the feelings are not entirely his own. He stares at her, wide-eyed. </p><p>“...Kuro has always dreamed of seeing it,” he finishes, wonder in his voice. </p><p>She smiles and clasps her hands eagerly. Perhaps, Wolf thinks, she was not so confident as she let on that he would be able to sense his lord’s presence.</p><p>Haltingly, he tells her of Kuro’s lifelong wish to travel, his sense of frustration at being always confined, his love of reading about faraway places. It is strange. There is little Wolf does not know of his lord’s life or his feelings, having been at his side so long, and so everything he says could have come from his own mind alone. Yet he feels himself guided by something else, his thoughts turning in new directions of their own accord. The Divine Child tells him—no, tells Kuro—that she often felt the same, and also of how alone she felt, despite her invisible friends, until she learned of Kuro’s existence.</p><p>As they speak, the guilt strikes him again; the two of them should be talking face to face, without Wolf as a clumsy mediator. They have so much to tell each other, two children with such similar pasts, and he is so unsuited to this kind of conversation. As soon as the thought occurs to him, though, a soothing presence brushes against his mind, a feeling of affection and gratitude that pains him in its kindness. For that brief moment, the guilt lifts. Wolf feels a thrill at receiving such a feeling, something meant for him alone, which only he in the privacy of his mind could even know of.</p><p>Later that night, after he lies down to sleep, he feels almost shy. Kuro had emerged most forcefully when speaking to the Divine Child, and his presence is more muted now. Still, now that they are alone it feels intimate, like the two of them are curling up in his bedroll together. While he doesn’t seem to be able to sense Kuro’s thoughts while not actively sharing them, it would not surprise him if his lord had a deeper mastery of their connection. He wonders if Kuro can search his thoughts and memories at will, and tries very hard not to think of the serpent viscera.</p><p>He wonders, too, about the future. It already feels strange, being alone with no trace of his lord’s physical presence. In the past, when he left Kuro it had been to serve him, knowing he would soon return. Now, though, there is nowhere to go—in a way, they are already together. How will he serve his lord when they are so joined? He longs for the days when he could kneel at Kuro’s feet, knowing the difference between them, knowing precisely where his place was. Now there is no clear distinction at all, and how can he kneel before someone who shares his body?</p><p>Things must continue to change between them, as well. If their long journey west is successful, they will leave the Dragon’s Heritage behind. Though he knows Kuro longs to be free of it, the prospect worries Wolf. Owl is gone, now, and with him the Iron Code that Wolf had once lived by. While Owl's authority was hardly the only thing binding him to Kuro, as he learned, the code had defined their relationship nonetheless. The connection created by the dragon’s blood was a more private bond, something only concerning them, and that had been a comfort to Wolf as he defied his father’s orders. One day the dragon will be gone, too—and what will hold them together then?</p><p>The moon is high when exhaustion finally overtakes him. Still thinking of Kuro and trying to relax into the feeling of closeness, his consciousness falls away. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>The taste of lightning is on his tongue again: another dragon dream, evidently. </p><p>Abruptly, though, Wolf realizes he can feel the earth beneath him, against his human back, not the elongated serpentine body he associates with these dreams. In fact, such awareness is in itself unusual. Instead of experiencing the vast swelling of wordless emotions, he simply feels like himself, as lucid as he is in waking life. </p><p>He opens his eyes. Yes, he is definitely himself, and this is definitely a dream. Rather than an endless expanse of rainclouds, his surroundings most closely resemble the Fountainhead Palace: the clouds are only just visible through gaps in the flowering canopy above his head. He is lying in soft grass beside a pool of still water reflecting the light of an unseen moon. It is a beautiful place, just as the palace was in life, or rather as it would have been if not for the dangers he faced there. He had wished at the time that Kuro could see it; his lord has always had an eye for beauty. </p><p>He starts to sit up, but a flash of white catches his eye—and he turns to his left and stares. Where his prosthetic should be, a pale, reptilian limb sits instead. He tries to flex his fingers, and the long claws obligingly curl. It seems the dragon has indeed managed to intrude his sleeping mind, if in a different form—for that is unquestionably what the arm resembles, though it is proportional to his own body. And hadn’t the Divine Dragon been missing a left arm?</p><p>He is still staring, trying to work out what it means, when he sense a presence approaching. It is not quite hearing, and not quite his sense of touch, but something between which alerts him; an almost musical tone rings through his bones and bids him look up at the small bare feet crossing the still water as if it were glass.</p><p>“Wolf!” a familiar voice exclaims, and Wolf’s heart seizes. He forgets his arm, forgets everything. His lord is standing before him, looking just as he once did a lifetime ago in Ashina. </p><p>“Lord Kuro—!” He cannot say who moves first, but at once they are in each other’s arms. Kuro’s hands tremble against his back, and Wolf’s relief is so strong that for a moment, tears cloud his eyes. It feels as real as he could hope for: Kuro is here, he is warm and alive, he fits into Wolf’s arms perfectly. He smells of rain and sakura blossoms and something warm and earthy; Wolf holds him close and tucks his head against Kuro’s shoulder, shamelessly breathing in his sweet scent. </p><p>“Wolf,” Kuro says again, and he sounds just as relieved as Wolf feels, embraces him just as tightly. “My Wolf, I am so glad to see you.”</p><p>They embrace wordlessly for Wolf knows not how long. Kuro’s warmth gradually pervades his own body, spreading under his cold skin and scales until he feels almost normal again. </p><p>Though he would happily hold him for an eternity, he also has a great many questions. At length he pulls away and settles before him, kneeling at his feet like he was always meant to be. “My lord,” he says, hardly knowing where to begin. “Are you…?”</p><p>“Yes,” Kuro says, seeming to understand his meaning. “I’m here, Wolf. I’m all right.” Kuro smiles at him with so much warmth that Wolf knows for certain he made the right choice. To be able to see him again, even if only like this, is worth everything. “We are... dreaming this together. It’s difficult to explain. This place is borrowed from your memories, I think… something you wanted to show me.” </p><p>So he could see Wolf’s memories, or at least sense something of his past thoughts.</p><p>“The Fountainhead Palace. Or something like it.” In fact, Wolf is still not entirely sure. There is something more otherworldly about this landscape, something in the silver moonlight that is more reminiscent of the Divine Realm. Then again, perhaps it is Wolf himself, his new eyes and his pale arm, that are making it seem strange.</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” Kuro says, but his eyes don’t leave Wolf for long. </p><p>He touches Wolf’s face almost reverently, like he, too, can’t quite believe this is real. “I’m sorry we couldn’t talk like this sooner,” he says. “It was very confusing, at first, being part of you. I couldn’t figure out which thoughts were really mine… and I felt so tired, after we joined, I think I just let you take control for a while.”</p><p>“You have no need to apologize, my lord.”</p><p>“But you were worried about me,” he says to Wolf’s surprise. “I could feel it.” He continues in a rush: “Once my energy came back, I could begin to tell us apart, and it was easier to see through your eyes. And then I learned I could show you my feelings, too, and even tell you what I wanted to say. And now… we can see each other properly, face to face! It’s exciting, in a way, to be joined like this.” </p><p>He looks so proud, and he is still touching Wolf, now running his fingers through Wolf’s hair. He is reminded suddenly of their last meeting. Kuro had touched him much the same way, and then… they had kissed. He can feel his face heat up at the memory. </p><p>Kuro’s gaze drops to his left arm, clutched awkwardly at his side. His lord extends his hand, and Wolf is reminded of another memory, another reunion. He can’t deny him again, so he places his clawed hand in Kuro’s, lets him explore the elongated digits and their pointed tips. </p><p>“The dragon is part of you, too, now,” Kuro says. “It’s interesting, don’t you think? We are trying to be free of it, yet for now we are all more closely bound than ever.”</p><p>“Yes, my lord.”</p><p>Truthfully, it’s an unpleasant break in the facade. This is not reality, not the way it once was, no matter how good it feels to pretend otherwise. The boundaries that once stood between them are gone, and his lord can see things about him that a master should not know about his servant.</p><p>Wolf himself is changed, too. He is not the man he once understood himself to be, in more ways than the obvious.</p><p>“My lord… I am the one who should apologize.”</p><p>Kuro looks up in surprise. “For what?” </p><p>“I disobeyed you.” He holds Kuro’s gaze steady. “I did not tell you what I was doing, and I decided to pursue this path behind your back. I… do not regret it, but I still went against your wishes.”</p><p>“Wolf…” Kuro crouches beside him, still holding his hand. “If you had told me, I might not have agreed, it’s true. I would not have wanted you to suffer as you have.” Wolf realizes then, with a surge of shame, that his lord must have seen the very memories he tried to conceal. “But I am so glad to be here with you, Wolf,” he continues. “And to return the dragon to its rightful homeland… I had not thought such a thing possible. Perhaps it’s for the best that you disobeyed me.”</p><p>“As your shinobi—”</p><p>“You are so much more than my shinobi, Wolf,” Kuro says. “Especially now.” His eyes shine with unshed tears. “Wolf, the last time we were together, I thought I would never see you again. I thought…” Wolf is glad he doesn’t finish the sentence; he knows what his lord means and still abhors the thought of it. Kuro had thought Wolf would kill him. </p><p>“I never wanted you to bear the burden of my heritage,” Kuro says. “I wanted to free you from that, more than anything. But…” His voice drops to a whisper. “I didn’t want to leave you, Wolf. I almost lost you once, and I… I could not bear it then, either.” </p><p>He is so close and still holding him like he is precious, looking at him like he never wants to look away, despite having seen more of Wolf than he has ever wanted to share with anyone. “Lord Kuro,” he murmurs, overwhelmed, and then Kuro is kissing him. </p><p>Wolf makes a choked noise against his lips, and kisses back. He had thought, once, that he might never have this chance again, and he can’t deny himself now. </p><p>It feels just as he remembers it; though their other kiss was brief, it was a memory he frequently revisited. Kuro must have been aware of him thinking about it—or perhaps, he thinks with a thrill, it was Kuro remembering it, drawing Wolf back to that moment himself. His lips are so warm, so alive, and this time he is not weak and bleeding in Wolf’s arms but whole, strong, his touch full of confidence. </p><p>And Wolf can’t find it in him to resist. Kuro’s scent washes over him again, and everywhere his touch ignites sensation under Wolf’s skin. He lets Kuro’s hands wander over his face, his neck, and then, hesitantly at first, the outlines of his shoulders and chest, his fingertips just brushing bare skin. He can’t seem to pull his lips away from Kuro’s, each light touch sending sparks cascading down his spine. When Wolf presses harder, daring to suck at his lower lip, Kuro makes a sound that has heat spiking through him.</p><p>“<i>Wolf,</i>” he says breathlessly, and then all at once Kuro is in his lap, filling Wolf’s arms and straddling his hips in a way he’d only dreamed of—and though he is dreaming still, it has never felt like this before. Wolf touches him half to reassure himself it is real, but then he cannot stop, holding him close, mapping the solid and perfect lines of his body, his mouth moving ineluctably from lips to jaw to tender bared throat. He can feel Kuro’s pulse flutter beneath his lips, and this is so far outside the bounds of their relationship, so unlike the devotion he owes him, but he <i>wants</i> it, wants to revere Kuro this way, wants to please him with his body rather than his usual servitude. </p><p>He can tell his lord is pleased, too; the feedback is intoxicating. Kuro tips his head back, murmuring Wolf’s name under his breath, and gasps when Wolf licks a stripe from his collarbone to his ear. He lingers there, mouthing at the neck so sweetly offered to him, until Kuro takes him by the jaw to guide him in for another kiss, and Wolf, ever helpless to his lord’s wishes, obeys. </p><p>It is escalating much faster than he intends, but after all the uncertainty, the solitude, to touch Kuro’s living body is all he wants. Since that fateful night, some part of him has always been starved for this. </p><p>His hands continue to wander, seeking of their own accord the warmth of his lord’s thighs, and he is lost, already, in their kisses and their dangerous proximity. When Kuro licks shyly at his lips he reacts on pure instinct, sliding his tongue fully into his lord’s sweet mouth. He can feel Kuro’s hips jerk forward at the contact, and the thought that he is affecting him physically only makes Wolf’s blood burn hotter as he continues to kiss him deeply. Every brush of his tongue sends jolts of pleasure through his body, each of Kuro’s soft noises going straight to his cock.</p><p>At length Kuro breaks away, saying “Wolf, I want...” only to hesitate when Wolf pulls back to look at him. Blushing, it takes him a moment to meet Wolf’s eyes, but when he does there is no misgiving there. “...I want to undress.” His collar has already slipped open, baring his upper chest. Wolf looks at him; he had not taken the time, in the heat of the moment, to catalogue his appearance—but Kuro’s his lips are shining and his skin is flushed from excitement and from the heat, the heat coiling within both of them, and Wolf wants him more than anything—</p><p>And then his gaze travels down, and the reality of what they are doing catches up with him all at once. He sees, with sudden clarity, his hands around Kuro’s waist: his right hand, so rough and calloused in contrast to his lord’s smooth skin, and on the other side, the dragon limb. The cold, ethereal shimmer of the latter suits Kuro better, but to think that it is part of Wolf’s body… it only drives home that he is something alien even to himself, now. He lets his grip loosen, suddenly disoriented by his own desire, his own actions. </p><p>It was simpler when he was nothing but Kuro’s shinobi. Kuro has always been the star he followed, and to be his retainer was the foundation of who Wolf understood himself to be. It has been disconcerting enough to become his cradle, to be bound by something deeper than duty and even blood… to also be his lover, and to be subjected to the full force of his tenderness, is all the more daunting. And though he very much desires to give Kuro what he wants, it still feels strange to show this part of himself to his lord, both the depth of his regard for him and the raw physicality of his body’s desire.</p><p>Kuro is still looking at him, though, still breathing hard and waiting with parted lips and wanting him, though now less certain, with a hint of worry showing beneath his lust. He would be kind, so understanding, if Wolf were to shy away; Kuro has not ordered him, but then again he does not need to: Wolf could never leave him unsatisfied, whatever his personal reservations. To please his lord, to serve him, is Wolf’s only aspiration, and that is true now more than ever—now that he is the only one who can touch Kuro this way, the only one who can touch him at all. And hasn’t Kuro been alone long enough, bound up with Wolf and kept apart from the outer world?</p><p>“My lord,” he says roughly at last, returning his hands to where they belong. Kuro’s relief is apparent in the way he relaxes into Wolf’s hold, the way he helps him tug away the fabric separating them. His feelings for Kuro, he can accept now, have long been more than simple loyalty—and perhaps it was inevitable that it be so, ever since the power of Kuro’s heritage was bestowed upon him. Maybe they had both been guided by deeper feelings for longer than he realized. </p><p>Kuro’s eagerness feeds his own, and now that they are touching again it is easy to forget his anxieties. What reason is there to deny himself, when they both want the same thing?</p><p>The heat overtakes him again before he can doubt his decision; they kiss again with a renewed hunger as more and more of Kuro’s skin is revealed to his eyes, his hands. It is at once familiar and new, to touch the boy he so reveres with a lover’s intent. Things have changed since he touched Kuro at all: The last time Wolf saw him unclothed was years ago, when Kuro was smaller—and when they lived in separate bodies, in that doomed country far away.</p><p>He is still smooth, as soft everywhere as he remembers, and as he’d imagined. Wolf takes his time touching him, exploring each part of his perfect form; even holding one of Kuro’s small hands in his own is thrilling. It is unavoidable, though, that he also sees the most distinctive change in his lord’s body. </p><p>The pale scar sits over his sternum, its slight discoloration the only disruption to his otherwise flawless skin. Wolf touches it without thinking. Only a short, thin line, as Kuro had said, just enough to produce the blood they needed. Wolf is glad to have been spared the sight of Kuro making the cut. It is unsettling to see his body marked in any way, moreso to think it might have caused him pain.</p><p>He feels a strange spark of pleasure as he traces the scar, though, at odds with his thoughts—and then he realizes, hearing Kuro’s shaky exhale, that the feeling belongs to him. Before he can say anything, Kuro reaches out and presses his hand to Wolf’s own chest, directly over the place where his father’s sword had burst fatally through. Wolf’s scar is much more prominent; even with the aid of the Dragon’s Heritage, the wound had healed strangely. The skin there is twisted and permanently swollen, but as Kuro touches it an indescribable feeling washes over Wolf. His touch is warm, even through the numb mass of scar tissue, and it occurs to him suddenly that it is the same place Kuro’s spirit had dissolved into his own. </p><p>Whatever had befallen them before, whatever they both may have suffered, they are here, now. Kuro is in his arms, and Wolf will never have to leave him again. Nothing of the world outside will ever harm him. They are as close as two beings can possibly be, and Wolf alone will be able to see him, touch him, feel his pleasure as his own.</p><p>A surge of possessiveness overtakes him, and he captures Kuro’s lips again, wasting no time in pressing his tongue inside. Kuro is still pulling at his garments, and without breaking the kiss he lifts his hips obligingly and helps Kuro strip him bare. </p><p>Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of Kuro’s hand on his cock. He has to stop himself from grasping him too roughly, keenly aware of his claws—but the soft, hesitant stroke of his lord’s hand sends a current of heat rushing through him, and he can feel himself twitch against Kuro’s palm. Desperate to reciprocate, he pulls Kuro’s hips to meet his own, and in so doing feels Kuro’s hardness pressed directly to his skin. Wolf repeats the motion at once, all thought fled as he rocks them together again and again. Kuro’s moan breaks their kiss, and he presses his face to Wolf’s neck instead. He grabs Wolf for support, letting go of his cock, for which Wolf is grateful. It had felt good, too good, and it is too soon for him to lose control, he still wants, he wants—but the absence of Kuro’s hand has only brought their bodies closer, and soon it is difficult to think again.</p><p>Kuro clutches the back of Wolf’s neck, his whole body arching under Wolf’s touch as he rubs them together, and Wolf feels rather than hears it when Kuro murmurs his name into his shoulder.</p><p>“Wolf,” he says again, barely audible. “Wolf, will you take me?”</p><p>His heart stutters, and for a moment he is unable to speak.</p><p>“…If you desire it,” he says finally, even as heat engulfs his body, as if the serpent’s living blood has not wholly left him. There is nothing he would like more, nothing his body craves more than to join with Kuro physically as they already have in spirit. His cock is already almost painfully hard, and the thought of burying it inside Kuro is enough to make his desire boil over.</p><p>But Kuro seems to find something wanting in his answer; he pulls back to look up at Wolf questioningly. “Do <i>you</i> wish to?” He caresses Wolf’s face with a nearly unbearable tenderness.</p><p>“Yes.” Wolf says roughly, unable to lie, unwilling, now, to conceal how much he longs for this. “Yes,” he says again, daring to move his hands lower still, and with a gasp of delight Kuro collapses against him once more.</p><p>Everything after that passes in a blur; sensation seems to build between them, the echoes of Kuro’s pleasure growing stronger as if their bond is becoming deeper, progressing into something new. He lets the feedback guide him, though it grows difficult to tell their feelings apart, and everything he does seems to please Kuro; perhaps he truly had been lonely, trapped in the back of Wolf’s mind, or perhaps—and then finally he is sinking his fingers inside him, feeling his warmth in the most intimate possible way. With the presence of the bond it’s easy; Wolf know just how to touch him, his lord’s pleasure permeating his consciousness, and when he needs to ease the way the dream provides.</p><p>Kuro is scrabbling at his back, frantic, and then he gasps “Wolf, now,” and yes, Wolf can feel his need, feels it too, and he withdraws and settles back and helps Kuro lower himself carefully onto his aching cock. </p><p>There is a prolonged moment in which their eyes meet, and Wolf feels raw, exposed under his gaze—and then Kuro closes his eyes, his head tilted back in the moonlight, and breathes slow and deep as he accepts Wolf inside him. He is beautiful, and his calm expression is hopelessly endearing; his lord has always approached every task with patience and steadfast determination, and tonight it is no different.</p><p>Agonizingly slow moments pass as he sinks fully onto Wolf’s length.</p><p>“My lord,” Wolf groans when he is fully seated; there is nothing else left to say.</p><p>“My Wolf,” Kuro says, and his next breath is considerably less steady. Slowly, in small irregular jerks, he begins to move—but Wolf feels him tremble against him, can see that he is overwhelmed. He cradles Kuro’s hips, guides him gently at first and then with increasing force as his lord’s enjoyment becomes clear and he begins to respond in kind. His breath goes more ragged as he presses his body fully to Wolf’s, gives himself over. Wolf can feel Kuro’s own erection rubbing against his stomach, and it is all nearly too much—Kuro is so very tight, and his lovely waist so narrow, and his legs are wrapped around Wolf as if he never wishes to let go—and more than anything, it is Kuro, his lord to whom he is pledged, to whom to belongs entire, who is now letting Wolf make love to him and giving him such ecstatic pleasure in return.</p><p>As Kuro adjusts to the feeling of Wolf inside him he shifts back, braces himself against the ground so he can answer Wolf's thrusts. The angle leaves Wolf free to touch him, and he does, brushing his nipples with his fingers and then his tongue, wanting to know every way in which he might please him. All the while Wolf is moving inside him, and Kuro's sweet noises are all he ever wishes to hear.</p><p>He has, again, that sense of something grower stronger between them; his actions seem to become less his own as he responds to Kuro on a level deeper than consciousness. His left hand ends up between them, Kuro cradling it to his chest. He has tried to be mindful of his claws, unfamiliar as they are, but when Kuro kisses him again he forgets to think of it, only conscious of Kuro’s tongue and Kuro’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheek and the incredible heat surrounding his cock.</p><p>Kuro’s gasp is sharper than his previous vocalizations—Wolf’s eyes fly open. His hips still. To his horror, the tips of his talons have actually sunk into Kuro’s skin, and—he can barely process the sight—bright drops of <i>blood</i> have sprung from them. </p><p>He makes to tear his hand away, but Kuro holds him there, with his mind as much as his hands. He is staring, as transfixed as Wolf, but absent the horror—he lifts the scaled limb, delicately, and watches enrapt as a droplet falls from the edge of a claw. </p><p>“My lord, I—” He does not know what to say, wanting to apologize, but even more to know how he has done the impossible, how he has shed the blood that is now filling the air with a disturbingly tantalizing scent. </p><p>“It’s all right, Wolf,” says Kuro, too calm. “Look.”</p><p>And it’s true, the tiny wounds have already closed, are even now fading altogether from his lord’s skin. But there is still the blood, brighter than red, the blood that he is increasingly drawn to in spite of his best efforts. </p><p>He lifts his hand closer—Kuro lets him go—and his tongue flickers out to meet it, to taste the sharp sylvan essence of the dragon’s blood. </p><p>The last piece of everything snaps into place. </p><p>Kuro is looking at him steadily, like he already knows what Wolf is feeling, and Wolf notices at last that Kuro is still fully hard against him, and he is starting to grind down on Wolf’s cock again. He feels all of it as if Kuro’s body were his own, and in a way it is—he gently curls his claws against Kuro’s chest again, and Kuro’s whole body arches into his, and then they are moving together harder and more frantic than before.</p><p>He pushes Kuro back, hitches his legs around his waist, drives into him just the way they both want it—can’t take his eyes off Kuro’s head thrown back, his cock leaking against his pale stomach, and takes him in hand just when it is becoming too much—and he <i>feels</i> Kuro’s orgasm in the base of his spine, an explosion of warmth and tenderness, and then he can no longer hold back, thrusts once, twice more into his lord’s twitching, oversensitive hole, letting his pleasure bleed into Wolf's own until everything, <i>everything</i> is Kuro—</p><p>In the split second before he comes, he is afraid he will wake up, that his lord will be taken from him again—but then the wave breaks and washes through him, and the sense of his presence never leaves him, and when he returns to his body Kuro is still there, safe and satisfied in his arms.</p><p>HIs limbs unsteady, he pulls out carefully and collapses at his lord’s side. They both recapture their breath, falling into the same rhythm, and Wolf tries to let his thoughts settle. Despite the comfortable warmth suffusing his body—both their bodies—it is difficult to ignore his lingering alarm at what just happened.</p><p>“My lord," he says, breaking the silence. "Your blood…” </p><p>"Yes," Kuro says thoughtfully, as if it is a mere curiosity. “I was not expecting that either. But this is a dream, after all. Your arm, my blood… even though it feels real, it is… real in a different way.” Kuro pauses. “My blood connects us in life. You, and me... and the dragon. I think that may be even more true here.” He props himself up to look at Wolf's face. “You need not fear harming me, Wolf,” he says. “I am part of you now, and it… felt very good.”</p><p>“Yes,” Wolf agrees, feeling his face grow warm even through his drowsy satisfaction. To cause Kuro pain was not something he has ever desired, but the way it made Kuro feel had swept him up as well, and it truly did feel as if their bond was complete, now, as if the intimacy of tasting his blood had finished the process the serpent’s flesh begun.</p><p>Kuro’s explanation does not entirely make sense to him, but then again, little of their current arrangement does. What matters is that Kuro is with him, dream or otherwise. His doubts from before have been assuaged somewhat now—though Wolf is changed, so is Kuro, and they will grow together as they become further intertwined. Wolf will be able to serve him still, if in different ways, and the nature of his feelings for Kuro evidently do not need to remain hidden.</p><p>The matter of the future has become even more pressing, though. Now that the dragon has so thoroughly entangled itself with Wolf’s spirit, what will be left of him upon its removal? What of the blood they share?</p><p>“My lord,” he says again, haltingly. “When we reach the dragon’s homeland…”</p><p>“That I can’t say for sure. I did not even know, until recently, that it could be done… I can't tell you what will await us there. But the dragon’s birthplace is where it truly belongs, not with us. You and I will be free of it at last, that much I know.”</p><p>This does not fully answer Wolf’s question, and Kuro must sense it, because he soon continues. </p><p>“Whatever happens,” Kuro says, “I’ll be with you, my loyal Wolf.” He lays his hand on Wolf’s chest, where his spirit had entered that fateful night. </p><p>“Yes, my lord.”</p><p>He covers Kuro’s hand with his own. Perhaps, in time, he will come to feel worthy of it.</p><p>For now, he closes his eyes, holds Kuro against him, lets him rest his head against Wolf’s chest. The warmth of him and the aftermath of their lovemaking lull him into a doze; he remains aware of Kuro’s weight while all else slips away. He has the strange sensation, for a fleeting moment, of being vast and very small all at once, first a sense that something else is wrapped around him and Kuro, binding them together, and then the feeling of coiling inside his own chest cavity, hearing his own heart beat in the vague darkness.</p><p>When he wakes, sunlight falling into his eyes, he feels none of the familiar loss that has accompanied his recent mornings. He does not expect Kuro next to him because he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, where his lord is. What had been a phantom on the edge of his mind is now a solid presence, as real as his own breath. </p><p>He flexes his prosthetic hand, the joints moving a bit more smoothly, the cold air almost palpable against the dead wood. He feels stronger, more fit to face the journey ahead now that his guiding star is returned to him.</p><p>Kuro is right here.</p>
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